Holding vs Wielding
by ShakespearesGroceryList
Summary: Most people on remnant don't dedicate themselves to what they want to do. Some say they do, but those people don't exactly know the meaning of dedication. This is especially true in regards to Huntsmen. They train, yes. But there is a difference to training oneself, and dedicating one's entire existence to do something. Holding a blade takes training. Wielding one takes dedication.
1. Chapter 1

Traveling- to make a journey, typically of some length or abroad.

**Walking**\- to move at a regular pace by lifting and setting down each foot in turn, never having both feet off the ground at once.

Most people nowadays never associate these two things together.

Allow me to explain why.

Way back, in a time long before huntsman academies were established, when walking was the main form of transportation, many saw the act of traveling across Remnant as being an ordeal.

A test.

A tribulation.

A torment.

A lengthy and unpleasant displacement of a person from their current position, to their inevitable journey's end. Keep in mind that, at the time, the creatures of Grimm were only about _half_ the reason traveling sucked.

This is because, other than defending oneself from the black beasts of born darkness, there were a lot of technicalities to traveling on foot. Preparations for food, water, sleep, medical treatment, etc. all had to be made long before a journey even began.

And so, Mankind, being the ever – evolving entity it is, made ways to mitigate the trial of traveling to terminus from being too torturous.(heh...alliteration) They created planes, trains, automobiles, boats, airships… Hell, even bikes made traveling THAT much _easier _in the monster-infested land of Remnant.

Walking was officially a thing of the past. At least that what Professor Ozpin thought as he sat comfortably in the passenger seat of a Land-based Alestian Armored Personnel Carrier.

You see, good ol' Oz was returning from Vacuo empty handed after following a fairly promising lead regarding an old and extremely odd acquaintance of his. The acquaintance in mention was someone Ozpin had hoped to enlist in Remnant's secret war against Salem. He himself didn't know why, but Ozpin was struck with the feeling that a near and terrible Conflict was on the horizon. So he began gathering his resources; he needed to be ready for any possible threat.

However, the search for his friend came up with dry, and this left Ozpin needing to occupy his somewhat nettled mind with a detailed, albeit useless, ponderance of the evolution of modern transportation.

But his musings were halted as the vehicle came to a very sudden stop.

Ozpin looked at his escort, a company of 6 (well-armed) Alestian soldiers, who all looked to be just as surprised at the interruption as he. Wanting answers Ozpin finally turned his attention to the front of the vehicle. "What seems to be the problem soldier?" he called to the driver.

A few seconds passed and the driver replied. "We may have an issue sir."

Ozpin made his way to the front of the vehicle, looking unperturbed. "Care to clarify?"

"A-An ambush sir, our position could be compromised." The soldier said as he raised a lone finger as if indicating the direction of the present "danger".

Ozpin followed the the soldier's hand, till his eyes came to rest on something truly interesting. A lone figure walking far in the distance... in the direction opposite to their vehicle. Ozpin had to suppress a chuckle at this. "And pray tell, how does a single man walking AWAY from us scream ambush to you?" He said, amused smile adorning his face.

"Sir. We are currently traveling in the Wastelands of the desert plains of Vacuo, farthest from any documented village or community. And this guy" He said focusing his attention back to the retreating figure. "-is just **walking** all by himself towards Vale? I don't think so." He said, turning his gaze from the figure back to his fellow soldiers, relaying them the situation.

Ozpin pondered this for a moment. The soldier made some good points. Crossing the distance between Vacuo and Vale was arduous task in itself. Without the benefit of traveling in numbers, the danger of the journey increased substantially. But doing so on foot? It was nigh impossible.

'_Or perhaps… just improbable'_ Ozpin thought to himself.

"I suggest we double back about 50 klicks an- Sir! Where do you think you're going!?" The driver asked frantically as he looked back at Ozpin making his way out the vehicle's exit.

"I'll be right back; you all can stay right here and hold perimeter." Ozpin said as he exited the APC. He saw that his commands confused a few of the other soldiers, but no one voiced any objections. He then turned and began in the direction of the walking figure, the loud hum of the APC's engine becoming more and more distant as he got closer.

As Ozpin got nearer to the stranger, he could begin to make out exactly what they were wearing. The attire itself was slightly reminiscent of the clothing he had seen worn by the people of Menagerie.

'_A Hakama?_' That's what Ozpin believed it was called. A white based hakama, a robe, and a black inner shirt composed the top half of the outfit. Ozpin's eyes shifted lower and he saw that the individual had some sort of odd grey pants that were tightly bound by white cloth around the calf and ankles. On the feet there were…what seemed to be '_white socks and straw sandals?_'.

But the strangest piece of the person's attire was located sitting atop their head… Or more accurately _surrounding_ it. '_a BASKET?_' thought Ozpin. '_They are wearing a straw basket on their head?_'

His interests had peaked, and he was come upon by the oddest feeling of **nostalgia**. His mind was made up. He had to address this strange fellow, for the novelty of it if nothing else.

"Excuse me!" Ozpin called, and with great success; the stranger stopped their stride and turned to face them.

"…"

Ozpin got closer. The stranger did nothing. "I couldn't help but notice that we are in the middle of a desert and… well… you're **walking**."

"…"

At this point Ozpin was but a few feet away and the stranger had now turned to face him completely, still standing in silence.

Now fully able to take in their appearance, Ozpin noticed that the left sleeve of this person's robe was empty, flapping gently in the sandy wind. Their right arm was tucked into the opposite side of the robe. To most, it might've looked like they were reaching for something, something treacherous.

But Ozpin knew better. He knew that this right arm was just hanging there, lazily. An easy adjustment made for the sake of a comfier journey.

Now, while EVERYTHING about this person screamed out-of-place, nothing screamed dangerous.

'Certainly doesn't scream ambush.' Ozpin thought.

No. Nothing dangerous at all…Except of course, the glaring and thought-provoking addition hanging comfortably at the stranger's left side.

A simple, black-sheathed **Katana**. No gears, gizmos, or modifications to it. At least, none that Ozpin could see.

"I just find it slightly strange considering the distance you've probably travelled. The nearest village is hundreds of miles away" Ozpin said, pointing behind himself."-in the opposite direction from where you seem to be headed."

"…"

No reaction was given. Ozpin couldn't imagine what the stranger was actually thinking, but in his mind, it was probably something like "Get on with it." or "Is there a point to this?"

"Right… I suppose… I am just trying to inquire…where specifically you are headed?" Ozpin asked, somewhat awkwardly.

The stranger raised their right hand from out of their robe and simply pointed behind them, back the way they were walking.

"Vale, then?" Ozpin asked. He was rewarded with the slightest of nods from the stranger, who began to turn away, seemingly done with the conversation.

"What a splendid coincidence!" Ozpin said. "I happen to be returning to Vale myself…Would you like to 'tag along'? Make the journey somewhat easier?"

"…" The stranger continued on his way. Almost looking to have ignored Ozpin entirely.

Normally Ozpin would have let this person be on their way and be done with it… But this was **too** **interesting**. When would Ozpin ever come upon such a superbly odd fellow like this again?

…

'Probably in a day or two.' He thought to himself.

…

It was a fair thought. One couldn't be the headmaster of a huntsman academy without coming upon a number of odd, colorful, and very… distinct individuals. But perhaps that's why the stranger interested him so?

His rather plain appearance, demeanor, and even weaponry all had an air of…**originality**, and originality is something Ozpin prided himself on perusing.

But.

In the end.

After all is said and done, one does not simply get hooked on the plot of a book, only to return it to the shelf without reading further. And reading further is what Ozpin intended to do.

"Very well" he said in faux defeat. "I suppose all of the surplus food, water and air-conditioning will go to waste." Ozpin turned around and shrugged his shoulders. "Truly a pity."

The sounds crunching sand beneath sandal ceased, and before Ozpin could even turn around, the stranger was already walking back towards the APC.

'Success' thought Ozpin, smiling to himself as he began to walk side-by-side with his odd, new acquaintance.


	2. Chapter 2

Let's start this one off with a bit of trivia.

Did you know that a staggering 77.9% of Remnant's youths at least **attempt** to find a career fighting Grimm _Professionally_?

Did you know that every major hunter academy has, at maximum, around an 8% acceptance rate?

Did you know that, in regard to the failed applicants, only about 20% are even qualified to be **considered** marginally trained for attempted application?

And finally, did you know that 80% of failed applicants immediately conscripted into the Military afterwards?

Well you know now, and it'll help you in the long run I promise. I find that these simple facts put the stupidity of mankind into…" Helpful Perspective".

This is because, if you saw the military's yearly haul of Academy rejects, your first thought would probably be "Holy shit holy shit holy shit, Monty-Fucking-Oum, these JACKASSES are in over their heads". And you'd be right to think that.

Everybody is in it for glory, and everybody thinks they are the protagonist of the story. Luckily, the PR and Recruitment staff at Atlas developed a very successful way of trimming the proverbial fat.

Nowadays, when someone tries to enter the Atlesian Military, they go through a very basic (but thorough) orientation that educates them on how the military sees them as a statistic on a computer as opposed to rational, living, thinking beings. They are then presented with photos, videos, eye-witness accounts, etc. detailing the many ways Atlas soldiers are continuously found mauled, disemboweled and half-eaten by baby-Grimm whilst on the line duty. If required, they are then met with an onsite therapist who tries (in vain) to pleasantly reassure the quitters that "life still has meaning" and that "not every shadow wants to eat you".

Suffice to say that, if anybody stuck around past orientation, they would forgo any and all delusions of grandeur they may have developed about themselves.

But, THANKFULLY, this doesn't apply to everyone.

In fact, SOME people enlist because they understand full-well that their place isn't with the Hunters and Huntresses training at the academies. Private Second-Class Matthew B. Gates was one of these people.

Gates was a simple red-headed farm boy in his youth: head-strong, humble and smart. The military ran strong in his family; it was a birthright that he accepted with open arms. These qualities, combined with his natural soldier-like disposition, made him a perfect recruit in the eyes of Atlas.

Furthermore, in training, Gates was a natural, but he was never much of a braggart in regard to his skill. However, that didn't keep him from developing at least a modicum of pride when he was recognized for it.

He worked hard.

**Trained** hard.

Fought hard.

And all of his effort was never left unrecognized, even by the higher brass.

You see, in Gates' mind, his talents as a **soldier** are exactly what landed him a place on the high-priority escort mission he was current carrying out: To secure and see to the transportation of one Professor Ozpin.

Headmaster of the _illustrious_ beacon academy, the pride of Vale, and an **extremely** high value political target. Gates thought he might've been transporting a Schnee for all the prestige surrounding the Professor.

But.

In the end.

After all is said done, the mission is what mattered most, and Gates would see that it was carried out.

And that's why he didn't exactly follow the professor's ludicrous orders of "stay put", and opted to instead trail him from a distance, alone. His mission parameters came from General Ironwood himself. And that's why even if the Prof technically out ranked him, he wasn't about to let the man wonder off and possibly get killed.

But, too his surprise, he was spared a long walk when the Professor came back into view… walking side-by-side with the unidentified, **possibly hostile, **individual.

Gates tensed as the Professor called out to him. "Ah! Private…Gates was it? Thank you for meeting us halfway." He said smiling. "I have concluded the nature of this interruption to our journey to be… a dramatic misunderstanding."

"Sir. While that may be-" Gates said, turning his attention to the… oddly dressed individual. "I don't know if jeopardizing your safety was worth making contact with this… person."

"Nonsense!" said Ozpin "My new friend here is simply travelling to Vale, like you and I, Private." He said gesturing to all three of them. "And after some _careful_ consideration, I've decided that they should travel the rest of the way with us."

…

'_This guy's insane'_ thought Gates.

"Sir." Gates said, with as much respect he could muster. "This guy's business and ours are not one the same, if that were true, they would've been in the APC with us when we left."

"That no matter-"

"**Sir, **we can spare some perishables, but I cannot allow-" With a sharp raise of his hand, Ozpin had cut him off.

"**Private**, I commend you for taking the extra initiative, but your hostility is neither needed nor wanted." Ozpin said as he walked past him, towards the APC. "He will be coming with us, and that's last I want to hear of it."

'_This guy'_ thought Gates. "…Yes sir…" he turned back to the stranger, noticing the simple sword hanging at their hip. "Listen, if your gonna be riding with us" he said, reaching his hand out. "I'll need to hold onto tha-"

But his words were caught in his throat, as a white streak crossed his vision, and with surgical precision…

Gates' head was separated from his body.


End file.
